For the Home Team
By Robert J. Marton
When they began dating, Helen expected that J.J. would teach her “the ropes” about love, romance, and yes, sex. Somehow, at Mayefield High she had gained a reputation for being experienced in these things, but this was largely unearned. She could probably have stopped the rumors, but it was exciting to be thought of in that light. But she knew (or assumed) J.J. had a great deal of sexual experience, so she didn’t want to appear too innocent in his eyes.Her father clearly disliked J.J. on general principles: J.J. was rough, sometimes dirty (from working after school in the auto garage), and was never going to be the educated person George Carson wanted his only daughter (and only child) to become.
In a family where no one had previously attended college, George Carson dreamed of Helen attending the state university. Though of little education, George was an avid reader and a man of eclectic knowledge, but he never felt he was as good or as smart as “educated” men.
Helen also loved books. Some of her earliest memories, and happiest times, involved visiting the Mayefield Library with her father. He never discouraged her from reading anything she wanted. Reading was an important intellectual activity in itself – the content was almost secondary. Currently she was working her way through the works of Jane Austen.
George unashamedly cultivated Helen’s sense of superiority to her classmates, especially to the boys of Mayefield. Maybe he was hypothetically looking in a mirror at his own life, but he viewed the average Mayefield teenage boy as lacking ambition, drive and basic intelligence. Falling in love with one of them would ruin her (his?) dream of a better and more fulfilling life outside Mayefield.
J.J.’s “bad boy” reputation bothered George, but it turned out the reputation was more myth than reality. He had less experience with girls than Helen, or anyone else, thought. He had had a few dates, even a few sexual encounters, but he was just as awkward around girls –especially “good” girls—as most teenaged boys.
But he set himself apart from his peers by attitude if nothing else. He had a car (old and battered, but it ran most of the time), money in his pocket from his job, and seemingly no parental restrictions; and cared almost nothing for academics. He was one of Mayefield High’s better football and basketball players, and that alone accounted for his attendance –however sporadic—at school. Helen couldn’t disagree with her father’s contention that J.J. lacked ambition, but she found his manner and his attitude exciting, maybe because it contrasted so dramatically with her father’s.
And she was flattered J.J. loved her. They hadn’t slept together yet, but she felt it was coming soon, and she believed she was ready for it.
He also had a certain vulnerability that Helen found immensely appealing. At times he attempted to expand his world, to move into a realm that he considered “adult” or “high class,” only to come crashing back to the reality of what his life really was. A visit to an Orioles baseball game in Baltimore represented one of these occasions.
On a bright Saturday morning in mid May, J.J. rolled up to Helen’s house in his newly polished Ford. The old car looked almost respectable. He must have stayed up most of the night waxing it. He was in a good mood and seemed ready to take on any new challenge. He worked overtime this week and had some extra money, and was anxious to show his girl a good time. His boss at the garage had gotten tickets for the owner’s box at the stadium and an invitation to a private pre-game luncheon.
The ride to the game was pleasant. J.J. talked more than usual, and occasionally whistled. He sat up straighter than usual in the driver’s seat, and seemed almost proud of his almost shiny car.
They arrived at the park just in time for lunch. J.J. had special parking privileges for the day and parked in the owner’s lot along side the cars of other invited guests – mostly Cadillacs, Lincolns, even a few foreign luxury autos like Mercedes and Jaguars. The old Ford –shiny as it was—and its occupants appeared somewhat shabby and out of place. This feeling intensified as they entered the clubhouse restaurant and observed the elegance of the decor and the guests. Fine art framed the walls. Both the tables and the people were expensively clothed. The tuxedoed waiters seemed condescending and cold.
Helen wanted to leave and find a less imposing place to eat, but J.J. wouldn’t hear of it. He opined much too loudly that this place was no big deal, he had eaten in fancier places, and these waiters better treat him right or he’d “stiff ‘em” when it came time to leave a tip. He tapped his spoon against an empty glass when he wanted service, and insisted in referring to waiters as “garcon.” Helen doubted he really knew what the word meant. From her high school French classes, she knew it meant “boy” but was often used for waiters, but she felt it was derogatory. Had J.J. known that, he probably would have shouted it even louder.
J.J.’s lack of social grace and the presence of automotive grease under his finger nails became almost obsessively obvious to her, as she imagined they were to all the other diners (who tried not to stare but barely succeeded).
Helen was excited when they finally went to the box seats to watch the game. She had attended many baseball games with her father, and the first view of the green grass, the noise of the crowd, and the myriad of smells in the ballpark thrilled her. Her father always sat in the cheaper upper deck or bleacher seats, so she looked forward to the prospect of being close to the action and the players. She quietly hummed “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” as they walked down to their seats, remembering that her father always sang the song in the car as they drove to the ball park.
The fans in the owner’s box were only slightly less elegant than in the restaurant, but far more conspicuous in their disapproval of J.J.’s behavior. For some reason, J.J. decided not to “root, root, root for the home team,” but to cheer instead for the visiting (and hated) Yankees,
which was not a popular choice in the home owner’s box. He loudly berated the home team batters and pitchers, and he harassed some other spectators into betting with him on balls and strikes. He lost almost every bet. Helen couldn’t help but notice the snide looks and laughs of those who were easily taking his money. By the fifth inning, he had exhausted all of his overtime earnings, and grabbed Helen and stormed away, shouting loudly that he had been cheated. Who was actually doing the cheating (the players, the umpires, the fans?) wasn’t clear, but J.J. was not taking personal responsibility for his losing streak.
The good mood and uplifted spirit that J.J. drove in with this morning disappeared by the time they rode home. He brooded all the way, barely speaking. He criticized the other drivers on the road, but he compared his car unfavorably to theirs – convinced they had done something illegal or underhanded to acquire such great wheels. He slouched in the driver’s seat, seemingly embarrassed to be driving his clunker.
J.J.’s agitation lessened somewhat as they grew closer to Mayefield; his mood perked up considerably as they entered the town limits. This is where I belong, he said, home sweet home.
To Helen everything in town looked old, grimy and uninviting. The afternoon sunshine of the ballpark had been brilliant and cloudless, replaced now by a landscape of gray as Mayefield plodded toward dusk. When they reached her house, she said “Thanks” without offering J.J. a kiss, said a quick hello to her mother and father, and went straight to her bedroom, where she spent the remainder of the evening quietly reading Jane Austen.
(Robert J. Marton)